The Gargoyle of Yorkshire Wood
by Quill N. Inque
Summary: In 17th century England, a young woman is convicted of witchcraft and finds love in the most unlikely place... COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

The Gargoyle of Yorkshire Wood

A Gargoyles Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Gargoyles.

Chapter 1

"_**There's a lot in this world that you'll never understand. And you always fear what you don't understand."-**__ Carmine Falcone, "Batman Begins" (2005)_

**Yorkshire, England, 1662**

**The area of Yorkshire was renowned throughout Great Britain for its beautiful scenery. Ancient trees, their branches gnarled with age, stretched their limbs to the heavens as the greenery of summer gave way to an explosion of yellows, reds and browns; this let all and sundry know that autumn's cold was imminent. Farmers could be spotted amongst the gently rolling hills as they went about the last harvest of the year, collecting bail after bail, bundle after bundle of crops in preparation for winter's scarcity. Others went out into the forest, intent on hunting deer and squirrel for that evening's meal. The quaint thatched-roof houses of the town square gave it a picturesque beauty worthy of a postcard, and the shadows they cast had already begun to lengthen as the sun dipped below the horizon.**

**Such a pity, then, that the serenity was marred by the angry shouts of the rabble which thundered down the cobblestone street. The gathered townsfolk looked for all the world like something out of "Frankenstein"; torches cast an eerie light over the proceedings as they brandished pitchforks, scythes, and other common agricultural implements.**

**The mob parted like the Red Sea before Moses as Reverend Thomas Limster, a religious zealot who also functioned as the town's magistrate, solemnly trod to his spot on the elevated dais. He was no longer young; a slight groan escaped his lips as he eased his body into the hard wooden chair, knocking his curly powdered wig askew. Limster's facial features were as severe as his mannerisms; his nose was hooked and thin, his eyes beady and darting, the skin beneath his eyes etched with frown lines, and his mouth turned permanently downwards. The Reverend's reedy voice brought about instant silence as he spoke.**

"**Bring forth the accused!" he thundered, pointing with his gavel.**

**Again the assembled patronage made way, but the second person to come forward was much more pitiable than Limster; a young woman, no more than eighteen, bound in a cocoon of ropes and prodded mercilessly with spears as she was ushered forward. Even by today's standards, she was beautiful; the girl possessed a lithe figure curvy enough to catch any man's eye, and her almond-shaped brown eyes complemented her sun-tanned skin. Her brown hair, highlighted with gold, hung in front of her face as she was tugged rougly along.**

**After all, one couldn't be too careful with witches.**

**Nods and mutters greeted her arrival; it made sense that Annie Whitehall had been working with Satan. Annie was unmarried, which was improper for girls her age, and spent time outdoors instead of on more womanly activities. Anne had a strong personality, too; she was never one to submit to men, like proper women did, and would voice her opinion to Cromwell himself. The only concession Anne made to tradition was the embroidered green dress she wore.**

**Limster turned to face her, and his expression was one of utmost loathing. "What is this woman charged with?"**

**A herald unrolled a piece of parchment, and his booming voice echoed through the town. "The accused is charged with the practice of unholy witchcraft, of committing acts of said witchcraft that are numerous in quantity and sinister in nature! How does the accused plead?"**

"**Well, Mistress Whitehall," Limster said. "Did you or did you not make a pact with the Devil and write your name in his black book? Are you or are you not a witch?"**

"**I am not," Annette said with quiet dignity, fiery determination in her voice. "I am a Christian woman, and I always will be."**

"**Lies!" shouted a man in the crowd. "She passed by my field, and a blight came upon our harvest that year!"**

**Anne rolled her eyes. "That was because mold got into your granary, Charles. It's your own fault for not making sure your roof was watertight."**

"**But could you have s**_**ummoned **_**the mold to Mr. Johnson's wheat?" Limster demanded. "Surely a witch such as yourself is more than capable of such a thing."**

"**I am no witch," Anne said. "And I certainly don't wish Charles any misfortune."**

**She could see that the Reverend was not convinced. "Next witness," he barked.**

**Another villager, a woman this time, stepped from the assembled masses. "Anne helped to deliver my baby last spring, but he was a stillborn!"**

**A collective gasp made the very windows shake, and even Anne looked perturbed as she replied, "Again, that was no fault of mine, Mistress Noll. The umbilical cord had wrapped around the boy's neck; there was nothing **_**anyone **_**could have done to save him."**

"**She spews lies again!" Mrs. Noll said. "I'm telling you, that trollop hexed my baby!"**

"**The evidence against you is overwhelming," Limster said, turning to Anne. "It would go better for you if you confessed your sins and pleaded for God's forgiveness! The Lord looks upon you with shame, Anne! Let Him cleanse your soul!"**

"**I'll not confess to a crime of which I am innocent," Anne said defiantly as her sweet voice rang out loud and clear. "You'll get no such satisfaction from me! Kill me if you want, but know that you are sending an innocent woman to her grave!" **

"**You won't be fortunate enough to be granted death," Limster said, smiling grimly. "No, you will serve a greater purpose: You shall be sent to the Demon's Lair, to be his unholy bride!"**

**The color drained from Anne's face; she'd heard stories of the bat-winged demon that dwelt within the ruined castle only a day's ride from town. Rumors and whisperings said that he slept during the day, but came out at night to feast on human flesh. No man was brave enough to try and vanquish the creature, and Parliament had ignored the town's entreaties, so the townsfolk tried to pacify him with periodic offerings of food and milk. Thus far, they'd kept the Demon's wrath at bay, but Anne felt tears well up in her eyes as she imagined the hellbeast having his way with her. She knew without a doubt that this was the "greater purpose" Limster had in mind.**

"We can think of no better gift for the beast than a woman as unclean as himself," the Reverend continued. "We will escort you to the Demon's stronghold, and there you will remain for the rest of your days! Never return here and darken our skies with your presence on pain of death! Take her away!"

Two big, hairy men seized Anne's bound body and hoisted her up on a horse as the townsfolk cheered. Meanwhile, Limster picked out a handful of the most seasoned hunters and fighters to accompany them, and the expedition was underway in a trice.

The setting sun lit the sky with its brilliant hues, but to Anne it confirmed that within his castle, the Demon was about to awaken. Lower and lower the glowing orb sank into the sky, until the last vestiges of its life-giving warmth vanished below the horizon as the imposing stone structure hove into view.

Once, it had been a mighty fortress, seated securely on a cliff hundreds of feet above the roaring ocean, its soaring towers and magnificent arches had been an object of fascination and beauty. But now the once-great stronghold had fallen into disrepair: many of its towers were crumbling and open to the elements, and vines and creepers had overgrown the once-impregnable walls. It was a scene of desolation and abandonment that only served to increase Anne's apprehension.

Darkness fell, and almost instantly a bone chilling roar echoed through the castle's corroded corridors. The men on either side of Anne stiffened, their eyes wide with fear, and the horses whinnied fearfully.

It was official: the Demon had awakened.

The man at the head of the column rode inside the ruined gates, and called out in a booming voice, "Hear us, Demon! We bring you a witch for a bride, an offering! Take your fill of her, and leave the women of the village alone! We hope this pleases you!"

Someone seized Anne's hand, and a tarnished ring was thrust upon her finger. "Go," the man said harshly. "Go and warm the Demon's bed. It's all you're good for now," he snarled as he pushed Anne inside.

The horsemen were gone before she could even protest.

Anne took in her new surroundings, and an involuntary shudder passed down her spine; the place was even spookier up close, and this fact was not lost upon her as Anne Whitehall entered the Demon's Lair.


	2. Chapter 2

The Gargoyle of Yorkshire Wood

A Gargoyles Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Gargoyles.

Chapter 2: Into the Demon's Lair

The hallway through which Anne strode was like something out of a haunted house: threadbare banners adorned with forgotten coats of arms, hung from the ceiling, and rusted weapons were mounted alongside corroded suits of armor. Strangely, the dusty torches hung lit in their sconces, and the warmth and light they provided was a welcome relief to her. Anne's footfalls echoed eerily in the stark emptiness, and it struck her as unsurprising that one of Satan's own would choose to live in such a place; just looking at it made her feel more depressed and lonely than she already was. The fact that the Demon might choose to simply devour her didn't help either.

Anne stopped in mid-step, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. She had the uneasy sensation that she was being watched, but by whom or what it was impossible to tell; the torchlight created more than enough shadow for someone to observe her unseen. Anne decided then that nothing would be gained by drawing this out, and took a moment to gather her courage before speaking.

"Hello?" she called, her voice echoing back at her. "Is anyone here?"

No one responded, but Anne could have sworn she heard a leathery sound overhead, like wings flapping. She pushed her fear away and continued, "Look, I know you're there, and I don't appreciate being observed like a bug in a jar!" Anne said irritably. "Now come into the light where I can see you!"

"As you wish."

The very human-sounding voice that replied shook Anne to her core as a heart-stopping, primeval fear seized her chest. She heard that flapping noise again, and cried out in terror as the Demon of Yorkshire appeared before her.

It was quite obviously male and stood on two feet, with a curious bronze coloring. He wore nothing other than a loincloth belted about his waist, and two enormous bat-like wings jutted from his shoulders, each tipped with a single claw. His arms were folded across his chest impassively, and Anne could see that he only had four taloned fingers on each hand. His entire body was muscular; there didn't seem to be an ounce of fat on him, and his bare chest was not altogether unpleasing to the eye. Like everything else about him, his feet were big, and they each ended in a set of intimidating claws. His tail, twitching about his thick ankles, ended in a two-tined fork like a lizard's tongue. His age was indeterminable, but he looked to be about the same age as her.

Anne fought to breathe against her paroxysms of terror, and the creatures stony gaze softened somewhat. "Calm down," he said in his deep voice. "I'm not going to hurt you."

_Of course,_ Anne thought grimly. _He wants to take my virginity first._

"The humans sent you," the creature continued. "Why?"

"They thought me a witch, and thus would make a perfect bride for a demon," Anne said bitterly.

The thing stared at her for a moment, and then erupted into gales of booming laughter. "Really? Is that what they've been up to these days?" he gasped in between giggling fits. "Oh, wow. And here I thought you were just another traveler who'd lost her way."

"What are you?" Anne could no longer restrain her curiosity.

"I'm not a demon, if that's what you're asking," he replied acidly, but then his tone mellowed. "And I have no name, for my kind never saw the need for such things."

_His 'kind'?_ Anne thought. _There's more than one?_ _I'll ask him about that later. _Aloud she asked, "Surely you need a name, sir. Otherwise, how will I address you?"

The creature looked confused. "Must you humans name everything? Nothing's real to you until you've named it, and given it limits."

"Be that as it may, I still believe you will need a name if I am going to be living here," Anne replied.

"Fine," he muttered. "Call me Tom. Oak Tom."

" 'Oak Tom'? What an unusual name," Anne said.

"Take it or leave it," Tom replied stubbornly.

"Very well, Tom you shall be." She wasn't prepared to argue further.

"You still haven't told me your name, girl," Tom said. "And I know all humans have one."

"My name is Anne," the girl said, extending her hand politely. "Anne Whitehall."

The massive palm that seized the proffered appendage enveloped it completely. "Charmed," Tom replied. "Are you hungry?"

Anne shook her head, but blushed as her stomach growled rebelliously. Tom grinned, displaying his long canines. "I thought so. Hang on for a moment," he added, as his tail vanished around the corner. Sounds of rummaging reached Anne's ears as Tom poked his head back at her. "Um, what do humans eat?"

"We don't eat children, just so you know," Anne replied snidely, but she immediately regretted her cutting remark when she saw the hurt in Tom's face.

"You need to pay less attention to what that Limster fellow says," Tom said sharply. "Is chicken okay, or do you have a problem with that, too?"

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "Yes, chicken would—Where on Earth did you get a chicken?"

Tom smiled again. "Stole it, and it wasn't hard either. You may as well put out a welcome mat…"

Anne was about to protest, but then she remembered her treatment at the hands of her neighbors. A vengeful smile crossed her face. "Amusing."

"I thought so, too," Tom said jovially. "Now let's get the water boiling."

"You can cook?"

"I can do a lot of things," Tom replied matter-of-factly as he led her down a flight of stairs, the chicken's carcass dangling from his hand. "C'mon, the kitchen's this way."

Anne's stomach growled again, and she could only hope that Tom would live up to his culinary claims. Tom beckoned for her to follow him as he muttered to himself.

"Let's see, we'll need oregano, and basil, maybe some biscuits on the side. What would you like to drink?" he said, addressing Anne.

"Um…"

"You're right," Tom said, nodding. "I think juice will do; no sense getting muddled, right?"

Anne almost shuddered at the thought of what Tom could do when intoxicated. "Uh, right."

Tom began whistling to himself as he slit the chicken's belly open with his claws. Anne almost vomited at the sight, but Tom thought it was hilarious.

"Did you think we'd eat a chicken with the feathers still on?" he laughed. "No, we've got to clean and gut it first, then season it and put it in the oven over there," Tom gestured to a large brick fireplace in the corner. "We'll have to let it simmer for a while, though, to make sure it's evenly cooked. I've eaten raw chicken before," he grimaced. "Not pleasant."

Anne realized that Tom was enjoying having someone to talk to, so she let him continue with his monologue as he showed her the proper method for preparing domestic fowl for consumption.

"Got to pluck the feathers before we do anything else," he began, grasping some of the deceased bird's plumage. "Make sure to grasp it by the root and pull hard, okay? Like this." With a sudden yank, he demonstrated for her. "Go on, try it."

Anne had to keep from grimacing with distaste as she complied, pulling the brown feathers for all she was worth.

They stayed resolutely in the chicken's body.

"It's hard," she said, somewhat astonished.

"I said to grab the feathers by the roots, remember?" Tom said patiently as he grasped her hand and, with an unfamiliar tenderness, moved it to the proper place on the bird's anatomy.

Anne had to fight to keep from gasping as sparks of pleasant electricity erupted down her arm where Tom had touched it. She'd never felt this way before around men; certainly she was pretty enough to warrant several courtship attempts back home, but nothing ever came of them. No man wanted a strong-willed, determined woman for a wife.

No man, except for the mystery that was Tom.

"There. Try it now." His voice brought her back to reality, and Anne grinned triumphantly as the plumage came off with a peculiar ripping sound, leaving the poor bird completely featherless.

"Good," Tom said. "Now we need to remove the internal organs," he said, gesturing toward the mess he'd made of the chicken's belly. "Just reach in there and pull 'em out; there's a wash basin over there if you need it."

"I can't," Anne admitted, somewhat ashamed. "It's…too much."

"Fine," Tom replied, shrugging as he extracted the rest of the fowl's innards. "I understand. Hand me that spit, would you?"

"The what?"

"The big wooden spike," Tom said. "That's what we'll be cooking on."

She duly handed him the instrument, and Tom impaled the now-unrecognizable bird upon it. Striding over to the oven, he placed the spit inside as Anne handed him some firewood.

"Thanks," Tom muttered, absorbed in his work as he struck flint against steel. A spark flittered into existence, and the dry wood went up in flames instantly.

"What now?" Anne asked.

"Now, we start rotating it on the spit, to make sure it's evenly cooked. While we're doing that, we'll bathe the chicken in this herb broth, to give it flavor," Tom said, smiling. "I'm glad you're here, it's hard to turn it with only one pair of hands."

"It does smell good," she admitted, as Tom ladled a spoonful of the mixture over the chicken.

"Just wait till you see how it tastes," the gargoyle replied, winking slyly as they slowly turned the wooden spike over the merrily blazing fire.

It was over an hour before the chicken was ready to eat, and the kitchen became swelteringly hot. Tom continued to turn the roast, his muscular body glistening with sweat, and Anne caught herself looking at him with a carnivorous eye.

_Stop that!_ She scolded herself. _You're not even the same species!_

Still, that did not change the fact that she found Tom very handsome, in his own way.

Anne licked her lips in anticipation of the meal; it smelled delicious, and her mouth was starting to water. Anne's heart soared with joy after Tom gingerly lifted the bird from the fire, wearing thick linen gloves to protect his hands as he placed the evening meal upon a chipped earthenware plate.

Tom bore the sumptuous dish back upstairs, Anne hot on his heels, and placed it upon a battered wooden table. Seating himself upon a piece of rubble in lieu of a chair, he shrugged apologetically.

"I don't have any chairs, I'm afraid. But you can use that rock over there."

Anne pushed the heavy chunk of masonry across the floor with a harsh grating sound, and sat on it after straightening her now-filthy dress.

"Where are the forks?" she asked.

"What's a fork?" Tom said, looking confused.

"Never mind," Anne replied, grinning as she took a mouthful of meat. "Mmm. This IS good."

"Told you so," Tom said childishly while his eyes twinkled. "Want some cider? Or would you like something stronger? This place has a surprisingly well-stocked cellar, actually."

"Cider, please," Anne said in between bites.

Tom laughed, and she found herself liking the sound. "Look at you go! You weren't kidding when you said you were hungry!"

Anne kicked him under the table, but she was smiling, too.

A/N: So here's the newest chapter in my latest work! Who knows what will happen next? Never fear, though, I'll have the next one up as soon as possible, 'kay?

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	3. Chapter 3

The Gargoyle of Yorkshire Wood

A Gargoyles Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Gargoyles.

Chapter 3

Tom finished picking his chicken drumstick clean, and sat back with a satisfied belch. "Aaah," he sighed in a sated manner, "That was good, if I do say so myself."

Anne looked askance at him. "It's rude to burp at the table, you know."

The gargoyle winked at her cheekily. "My castle, my rules, luv."

"True," she admitted, "But I daresay a few manners wouldn't kill you."

"And lightening up wouldn't harm you either," Tom replied. "C'mon, I wanna show you something!"

"Where are we going?"

Tom fluttered his wings expressively. "You don't think these are just for show, do you? Would you like to find out what our fair Yorkshire looks like from the air?"

Anne's heart leaped in her chest. "Really?"

"Sure!" Tom said, grinning hugely. "I love gliding on clear nights like this! It's buckets of fun! You're not afraid of heights, are you?" he asked seriously.

"I don't think so…" Anne replied softly. "You can really fly?"

"No," Tom said. "Not true flight, anyway. I can only glide on currents of wind. Don't worry, though, I won't let you fall, I promise."

Anne looked at the tarnished band on her finger, and remembered that Tom was her new husband. She really had no alternative but to trust him. "Okay," she said, summoning up her courage. "I think I would like to experience gliding with you."

The smile that lit up the gargoyle's face outshone the moonlight. "Follow me," he said. "We need to take off from the highest tower; the best winds for gliding circulate up there." He motioned for her to follow him up the corroding staircase, but Anne hesitated for fear of falling through the old wooden steps.

"Oh, don't worry," Tom said reassuringly. "It's more solid than it looks. It supports _my _weight, after all."

"And just how old are you?" Anne asked.

"Thirty-six," Tom replied. "About the same as eighteen for a human. You coming or not?"

She gulped nervously and ascended the stairs after him, wincing at each creak and groan from the weathered planks. They held, though, and the newlyweds reached the top of the tower without further incident. Anne was decidedly short of breath as she finally caught up with Tom; climbing eight stories would, after all, tax one's physical endurance.

With a thunderous clap, Tom's bronze-colored wings unfolded to their full length, and he made quite the imposing sight. But it was the scene below them that took Anne's breath away.

The cool ocean breeze was salty in her nostrils, and on the rocks below the waves crashed and pounded their frenzied rhythm, as they had done for untold centuries. A seagull's plaintive cry punctuated the serenity, and the full moon cast its shine upon the ocean's surface as the stars twinkled and winked like a thousand Christmas lights.

It was a scene of nature worthy of mankind's greatest artists, a masterpiece of nature that few were privileged to witness.

Tom sidled up to his "wife". "Magnificent, huh?" he asked softly. "No matter how many times I see it, I'm still amazed."

"It is quite lovely," Anne admitted. "I had no idea the sea could be this beautiful."

"Nature has many gifts to offer," Tom said sagely. "But few take the time to appreciate them."

Anne was about to agree, but her words turned into a startled cry as Tom swept her off her feet and into his arms, bridal-style. (Pun intended.)

"W-What are you doing?" She couldn't keep the indignation from her voice.

"Relax." Tom's voice was gentle as he neared the edge of the parapets. "I promised I wouldn't let you fall. Just sit back and enjoy the view, okay?"

"Are actually going to jump off?" Anne said incredulously. "That's crazAAAAAAAAA!" her words were cut off as the gargoyle launched himself majestically from the tower's roof, and for a split second, heart-stopping fear seized her chest. Tom clutched her closer to him, and Anne noticed that he smelled of old leather and stone.

She also noticed, once again, that he was totally built. The six-pack on his torso was certainly appetizing…

Anne shook such thoughts from her head as the wind whipped through her hair. She chanced to look downward, and gasped in shock.

Everything seemed tiny from the air. The village of Yorkshire seemed as insignificant as a child's playset, its people no bigger than ants. The girl could even see the house she used to live in, almost indistinguishable from those around it.

Her fear vanished, to be replaced with awe and a childlike sense of wonder. "Wow…" she breathed.

"It is glorious, isn't it?" Tom said softly. "Such beauty can be seen from these heights."

"I've never seen anything so breathtaking," Anne said. "You were right, Tom. This is a most enjoyable pastime."

The gargoyle banked sharply on a warm updraft, grinning ferociously. "Watch this."

Folding his voluminous wings back sharply, Tom dived down toward the city square and let out a spine-chilling howl, swooping low over the shops and taverns as people screamed. He pulled out just yards from the unforgiving cobblestone street. Reverend Limster himself dived underneath a horse-drawn cart, splattering himself with dung in a manner most unbecoming of a man of his station.

Anne didn't have any breath to scream; the dive had forced the breath back down her throat. Tom grinned roguishly as they once again gained altitude.

"I like to scare 'em every now and again," he said nonchalantly. "If they thought I'd gone soft, they'd kill me."

"That doesn't make it right," Anne scolded. "You really frightened them!"

"Oh please," the gargoyle snorted. "Like you didn't enjoy every moment of it."

"I must admit," Anne said with a tiny smile. "The look on Limster's face was indeed satisfying."

"We need to land for a moment," Tom continued. "I need to rest my wings."

"Very well," Anne said. "Just try to land gently, okay?"

"Right," Tom nodded seriously as he avoided some low-slung branches. "This looks like a good spot."

Gargoyle and girl landed upon large boulder with scarcely a breeze to denote their arrival. Anne felt exhilarated from the whole experience as she looked up at him.

"So," Tom prodded gently, a smile hovering about his face. "Did you enjoy our little outing?"

The response he got to his innocent question took the gargoyle completely by surprise; almost as if drawn by a magnet, Anne stood on tiptoe and kissed him full on the mouth. Tom was momentarily poleaxed, but seconds later his eyes closed dreamily as he pulled his wife close to him.

Anne gently pulled away, and cupped Tom's face in her slender fingers. "Yes," she said softly. "I enjoyed it very much."

A/N: Awwww…That just tugs at the ol' heartstrings, doesn't it? Hope ya'll enjoyed this latest installment, and I'll try to have the last one up as soon as possible!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	4. Chapter 4

The Gargoyle of Yorkshire Wood

A Gargoyles Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Gargoyles.

Chapter 4

Tom pulled away from Anne with obvious hesitation, a bemused like upon his face. "May I ask what that was for?"

Anne blushed. She really hadn't meant to kiss Tom, but when one is high on adrenaline, reasoning becomes inhibited. Thus, she looked away shamefacedly as her gargoyle friend waited for an answer. "I'm…not sure," she said finally. "It just happened."

"You did not enjoy it?" Tom's expression turned mournful, and Anne felt her heart wrench.

"Yes, of course I enjoyed it!" Anne replied. "But I do not think that makes it right. I mean, I only just met you."

"So the kiss wasn't real," Tom said flatly, shaking his great horned head. "And you think I'm repulsive, because of what I am."

"No!" Anne was genuinely appalled. "I don't think that at all! You're one the nicest…_people _I've met! I just…don't want to rush into anything…" she finished lamely.

Tom's face showed the hurt he felt. "The sun will be up soon," he said coldly, "And we're too far away from the castle to glide back."

"What happens at sunrise?" Anne said. "Does the sun make you uncomfortable?"

In spite of his current mood, Tom smiled mysteriously at her. "Something like that," he said, getting down on one knee in a pose reminiscent of "the Thinker". The sun's first light shone over the treetops, and a sound like rocks grating together made Anne turn around.

When she did, she had to stifle her horror as the young woman was confronted by the stone statue that had been her friend only moments before. She felt her heart sink at the sight, and tears sprang unbidden from her eyes.

"Tom? TOM!" Anne frantically waved a hand in front of his face, but there was no response from the gargoyle. Anne's first assumption was that Tom had died, but he hadn't seemed scared or sad at dawn's approach. _Surely even an extraordinary creature such as he would fear death's cold embrace_, Anne thought, sniffling and wiping her eyes as she analyzed the problem.. _Perhaps he is merely sleeping…he acted as if this was routine. And the legend says that he slumbers during the day, after all._ Her face grew determined._ I shall stand guard over him in case he wakes up. If the villagers find him like this, they'll smash him to rubble._

Anne felt her gut wrench at the thought of Tom's sweet face being broken into pieces. How could the villagers demonize such a gentle being? Limster and his bunch were all bigots and bullies to wish harm to her friend, simply because he was different! The girl took a seat by her frozen friend, and settled in to wait until the sun went down.

_Please come back, Tom…_

_**Much later…**_

The sun was already beginning its descent in the sky as Anne's eyes opened blearily. _Some guardian I am,_ she thought morosely. _If Limster or Charles had come along, we'd both be dead. I must make an effort to be more vigilant in the future._

A twig snapping jolted Anne from her thoughts. "Who's there?" she demanded, heaving a rock in the direction of the noise. "Leave us in peace!"

The projectile vanished into the bushes, and Anne was rewarded with a satisfying _thonk_ as it made contact with the unseen observer. Simultaneously, something growled and grunted furiously, and the bushes shook with an animalistic roar as the wolf charged from the underbrush, its lips peeled back from its daggerlike teeth.

The beast looked at Anne hungrily, licking its chops as three of its pack members came up behind it, almost as though they had been summoned by the promise of fresh meat. The wolves growled low in their throats and spread out in a circle, and this was tightened as they closed in on Anne.

She looked desperately at Tom for aid, but his stony form didn't budge. _I'm going to die,_ Anne thought numbly. _I don't believe it._

The sun slipped below the distant hills, as the first wolf sprang at Anne's throat thirsting for blood-

-At the same moment that Tom burst from his stone shell like a bronze torpedo. The gargoyle sized up the situation in a trice, and let out a bellowing roar of fury. How DARE these creatures attack Anne? HIS Anne, whom he'd come to care for so deeply in such a short time! These wolves, Tom vowed, wouldn't live to see the dawn. Flexing his talons, Anne's friend sprang into action.

The pack's leader never made it within three feet of the girl; its pounce upon her was cut off abruptly as Tom blocked his path, slicing his throat open effortlessly as warm blood sprayed his face. Tom's eyes glowed like lanterns in his fury, and he contemptuously heaved the wolf's carcass to one side as he braced for attack again.

If he had been hoping that the pack leader's death would scare the other wolves away, Tom would have been sorely disappointed. If anything, the deceased canine's compatriots became more aggressive upon seeing their comrade's bloody demise. One of the wolves seized Tom by the tail, biting down viciously and tearing his head from side to side as the gargoyle roared in pain. Tom pulled his leg back in and thrust his massive feet behind him in a donkey kick, and the force of the blow was so great that the wolf's head was torn clean off its shoulders. Another jumped through the air and seized the gargoyle's arm, sinking its fangs deep, but Tom merely grabbed its neck with his other hand and crushed the beast's windpipe like a paper cup. The last of the pack, seeing this, tried to flee, but there was no escape from Tom's wrath. The bronze titan snapped a lithe, green branch off a tree at a sharp angle, leaving it broken in a vicious spear-like point. This Tom flung with all the grace and power of an Olympic sportsman, and the makeshift javelin took the wolf through its rib cage, pinning it to the ground as it writhed in agonizing death throes.

Anne watched all this in horror, for this was an entirely different Tom than the one she had come to adore. She couldn't have imagined that he was capable of such violence and brutality. And all of this to protect _her_, when she'd practically broken Tom's heart the night before? Truly, the gargoyle was as noble as the knights of old.

Anne rushed over to him. "You're hurt!" she exclaimed, glancing at his wounded tail and arm. "We need to treat that for infection."

"A day's stone sleep will heal me," Tom replied. "It is of no concern."

"You turn to stone every day?" Anne asked, bewildered.

"Yes, from sunup to sundown," Tom said as he licked his bleeding bicep. "When I am asleep, my injuries heal, and I awake refreshed the following evening."

"Be that as it may, dawn is still a long way off," Anne said. "And stop licking yourself," she added, tearing some strips of linen from her dress. "That will only make it worse. Use these instead."

Tom obediently kept still as Anne dressed his hurts. As she worked, he noticed how pretty his friend seemed while doing such tasks, her face a mask of tenderness and concern. Anne's voice was apologetic.

"I am sorry for the previous evening," she began. "I felt terrible about hurting you so, Tom. I was just…scared, I suppose."

"Scared of what?" Tom asked.

Anne's tone was hushed. "Of falling in love with you."

The gargoyle stared at her for a moment, but then a smile creased his horny face. "It is I who should be apologizing," Tom said. "I tried to rush you, and thus made you uncomfortable. It is a small wonder you reacted the way you did."

Anne's voice was hopeful. "Then all is well?"

Tom offered her his arm as he spread his massive wings. "I have never been happier than when I am with you, Anne," the gargoyle said quietly as he gathered up in his arms. "Shall we adjourn to the castle? All this action has made me quite famished."

Anne giggled as he scooped her up. "As long as it's not chicken!"

Her friend grinned mischievously down at her. "Pork it is, then."

A/N: Wow, looks like we got to see a glimpse of Tom's bad side! Coming up in the next chapter, Anne's ex-boyfriend hears of her plight, and trouble starts brewing in Yorkshire Village…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	5. Chapter 5

The Gargoyle of Yorkshire Wood

A Gargoyles Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Gargoyles.

Chapter 5

_**The Dancing Dog Tavern, Yorkshire**_

John Lancaster banged his tankard down upon the round wooden table and wiped the foam from his lips. "Surely you jest, Charles!" he cried. "How could sweet Anne, _my _Anne, be an agent of the Devil? Say it isn't so!"

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Charles Johnson said from across bar. "She went to the Demon just two eves past. A witch such as her will pacify the beast, methinks."

"Then Limster has sent her to her doom!" Tom roared in fury and the bar went quiet. "I think we've put up with this monster long enough, and any man who thinks differently is a coward in my eyes! Why not kill the Demon and wash our hands of him?"

Charles sighed. "The Demon is too strong and fierce for any number of us to bring him down, and to irk him would bring blight upon our households. Ye all know this to be true." There were murmurs of assent from those who were listening. "Let 'er go, John. She's beyond saving."

"Never! I'm going to save Anne and kill the Demon, and if any of you agree to putting an end to his menace, meet me in the town square an hour from now!" John shouted as he slammed the door behind him.

_**Tom's castle, the Yorkshire countryside**_

Tom greeted the evening with his-now familiar roar, sending rapidly disintegrating shards of rock everywhere. Anne felt her face light up with joy as he awakened; the castle was so lonely without him, and she missed him terribly during the day. She ran toward him gleefully, and Tom returned her happiness with that smile she'd come to adore so much. His leathery wings wrapped around her like a protective cocoon as he sighed contentedly. With talons that could punch through rock and rend steel like paper, Tom held Anne in his arms with a gentleness that wouldn't have roused a kitten from its sleep.

Tom sighed the girl's name like a prayer as he drew her closer. "Anne…"

"You missed me, then?" she giggled.

"Yes," he rumbled softly. "I did."

"You were so brave the other night," Anne said matter-of-factly. "Surely I would have been devoured if not for you."

"And the same fate awaits any and all who wish you harm," Tom said seriously, his eyes glowing white. "I would gladly lay down my life for yours, Anne. You are everything to me.'

Anne blushed, both at his praise and the fact that she felt the same way. She had grown immensely fond of Tom during her short stay at his ruined castle, and the affection Anne felt for him went beyond mere friendship. He made her feel safe and secure, and she was so _happy_ when in Tom held her close like he did just now, an utter contentment that Anne had never felt before. She became giddy at the mere sound of his voice, and Anne couldn't help wondering, _Is this what love feels like?_

"You know, I could make us a lovely lamb dish for dinner this evening," Tom said, with an air of a waiter announcing the evening's specials. "My mutton chops are to die for."

"Maybe later," Anne replied, sitting down on a piece of rubble. "Right now, I just want to be with you."

Tom joined her on the rock, and the two became immersed in the simple joy of each other's company. Time lost all meaning as the moon shone overhead.

_Yorkshire, the Village Square_

More than one person had turned out to hear what young Lancaster had to say: he was a man of good repute about town, and wouldn't call a meeting for no reason. He had insisted that only the fittest and best fighters accompany him on his "crusade", and thus the town square was packed with men bearing a multitude of remorseless pieces of metal; swords, spears, pikes and matchlock muskets were all very much in evidence. Tom looked with satisfaction upon those who had heeded his call, and began to speak. "My friends, our town has long been under siege by the Devil! Who among you has not seen the Demon, who dwells in the castle just beyond yonder hills? Who among you has not seen his great horned head, his devilish tail and glowing eyes? ENOUGH, I SAY!" John exclaimed, waving his arm dramatically as the murmurs grew into cries of agreement.

"The Demon will corrupt us all! He waits in his lair to swoop down and devour our children, to carry off our wives and rape them! He seeks our destruction, and yet, like cowering babes, we continue to pacify the beast! How much longer must we endure this? If His Majesty will not help us deal with this problem, then it's time we took matters into our own hands! This very night, we shall rid the world of the Demon's curse, and we will all sleep better in our beds! WHO'S WITH ME?"

The crowd roared, and even Reverend Limster thrust his pistol into the air as their shouts reached his ears.

"Yeah! Kill the Demon!"

"He's got to be stopped!"

"Let's go get him!"

John leaped from his elevated position, landing squarely upon his black mare as he motioned for his followers to join him. "C'mon, lads! Tonight, we take our vengeance!"

The mob thundered off into the darkness, and one could make out strains of song as they waved their weapons in the air….

(Sing to the theme of "Kill the Beast" from "Beauty and the Beast")

_Light your torch, mount your horse  
Screw your courage to the sticking place  
We're depending on our John to lead the way  
Through a mist through a wood  
Where within a haunted castle  
Something's lurking that you don't see ev'ry day  
It's a beast, one as tall as a mountain  
We won't rest 'til he's good and deceased  
Sally forth, tally ho  
Grab your sword, grab your bow  
Praise the Lord and here we go!_

_We don't like what we don't understand  
In fact it scares us  
And this monster is mysterious at least  
Bring your guns, bring your knives  
Save your children and your wives  
We'll save our village and our lives  
We'll kill the beast!_

_Raise the flag  
Sing the song  
Here we come, we're fifty strong  
And fifty Brits just can't be wrong  
Let's kill the beast!_

Reflected in the eerie torchlight, Tom's castle loomed imposingly on a hill in the distance, and inside two lovers remained blissfully unaware of the danger about to descend upon them…


	6. Chapter 6

The Gargoyle of Yorkshire Wood

A Gargoyles Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Gargoyles.

Chapter 6

Tom held Anne close to him, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her hair as she sighed contentedly. The gargoyle's strong hands brushed the girl's brown locks out of her eyes, and Anne looked at him with adoration. She felt so safe and secure when he was with her…

_BAM._

The two lovers sprang apart like startled deer, and Tom's craggy features creased with worry as he looked about him in confusion. "What was that?"

_BAM._

Outside the ruined stone structure, John Lancaster thrust his sword in the air, shouting encouragement to his men as they prepared to strike the ancient doors with their crude battering ram. "C'mon, men!" John shouted in a manner that would have made Cromwell proud. "The Demon cannot hide from God's judgment! Tear down the gates, take any plunder you can find, and cleanse the Earth of his blight! I'm coming for you, Anne my sweet!" he roared.

The old wooden doors splintered and cracked under another punishing blow, and inside the castle Tom's face contorted with fury. "I knew this would happen sooner or later," he growled as his eyes glowed a burning white.

"The villagers?" Anne asked. "But I thought…"

"Apparently they've tired of me," Tom sighed. "I'll wager some rabble-rouser's gone and stirred them up. Go," he said harshly. "You must escape while there's still time, Anne. Get away from here!"

"No," she said, her voice quiet with determination as the doors began to give way. "I will not abandon you, Tom. We will face this together."

"No!" Tom exclaimed, glancing frantically outside while a musket ball shattered a nearby window. "I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you! I…I love you," he finished, his tones hushed. "Don't throw away your life for me, Anne."

"I would rather die by your side than live a day without you," Anne replied. "Because I love you too, Tom."

A feral smile split the gargoyle's face, and he knew that Anne's decision could not be swayed. "Very well," he said, flexing his talons. "Then we will fight together. Take this," he said, pulling a dusty sword off the wall before taking one himself. "Can you use it?"

"I should say so," Anne winked at him. "Before I was banished, I taught myself in secret. I can wield a blade well enough."

"Then let us fight together," he replied grimly as the door gave way. John Lancaster and his men burst into the ancient stronghold-

-To find it completely empty.

The villagers looked about in confusion, but that confusion turned to terror as a sudden breeze snuffed out the torches' dim light, courtesy of Tom's massive wings. Instantly, swords were unsheathed and muskets brought to bear in the inky blackness, and from their hiding place in the rafters, Tom grinned toothily, his fangs shining dimly in the darkness.

Suddenly, the man to John's left was lifted off his feet by some invisible force, screaming in terror as he was borne upward. His cries were abruptly cut short by some unseen foe, and all was eerily quiet as the mob began to grow anxious.

Tom' s voice, laden with menace, boomed through the empty corridors as the villager's unconscious body landed on the floor stones. "What do you want, human?" he snarled. "Why have you attacked me? What harm have I done you?"

John flourished his sword in all directions. "I have come to rid the world of you, demon!" he snarled into the shadows. "And rescue my beloved Anne from your evil clutches!"

"Your concern for her is admirable, but unwarranted," Tom's voice replied. "She has chosen to stay out of her own free will, human. You have my word that Anne is safe. Now take your followers and go!"

"I'll not trust the word of a monster!" John cried. "Come out and face me if you dare!"

"Your words, not mine," Tom said as he swooped down from the darkness to land in front of him. "I do not wish to fight you, but you leave me no choice," he said sadly.

"What are you waiting for?" John shouted to his men. "Let's kill the demon!"

With a great cry, the mob surged forward, but the look on Tom's face was a far cry from the terror they hoped to inspire. The crack of muskets split the night air as the weapons were discharged blindly, and lead spewed un-aimed in all directions as smoke made the air hazy. One of these hit Tom's wing by pure chance, tearing through the leathery skin and leaving a bloody hole in its wake. The gargoyle clenched his teeth, but ignored the discomfort as he prepared fought for his life.

"_STOP!"_

The shout was so loud and intense that it achieved the desired effect. The impending melee was halted before it could begin, and the humans looked about in bewilderment as they tried to discern who had uttered the cry.

The answer became clear when Anne Whitehall stepped from the darkness, a pleading expression on her lovely face. Tears made Anne's cheeks damp, and her voice was desperate as she spoke to all those present.

"Stop the fighting!" the girl implored her countrymen. "Listen to reason!"

"The witch lies!" a man called out. "She's in league with the Demon, trying to poison our minds with her lies!"

"No!" Anne exclaimed. "Look around you! This is where the path of hatred has brought us! You fear Tom without any reason to do so, you brand him a demon simply because he looks that way! Listen to reason, I beg you! What has Tom ever done to threaten our village? When has he tried to steal our children away, as Limster and Mr. Lancaster claim? He's not monster! Tom is very kind and gentle, and he's my friend! If you intend to kill him, then you will have to kill me as well!"

John looked momentarily bemused. "But…I came to save you…I thought…"

"You thought wrong, John," Anne said quietly. "You let your hate and prejudice cloud your mind and impede your judgment. I do not need saving, for I am very happy here," she smiled at Tom. "Let us not fight anymore, my friends," Anne implored. "Go home, and leave us in peace. No harm will come to you."

A farmer threw down his musket with a loud clatter. "Fergit this," he muttered. "The beastie'll mind 'is own business if we mind ours. I'm done."

John stared at him in shock, but shock turned to horror as, one by one, his men threw their weapons down and left as suddenly as they had arrived. All too soon, he was alone with Anne and Tom in the abandoned castle, which had grown quiet once more.

"So this is where your heart truly lies?" he asked quietly. "You won't consider coming back to the village? I'm sure I could convince Limster to lift your banishment."

"No," Anne said. "My home is here now, here with Tom. Do not despair, John," she said gently. "I'm sure there is another woman in the village who would make a fine wife for you."

"Then go I shall," Tom said, nodding at Tom. "Peace go with both of you."

The young man padded out of the stone passageway, and Tom looked down at Anne in wonderment and pride.

"That was a good thing you did," he rumbled. "Much bloodshed was avoided due to your actions this night."

"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time," Anne said. "Besides, if you'd actually fought them, they would have lost. Badly."

"True," Tom said, grinning roguishly as he spread his magnificent wings. "Shall we go for a glide?"

Anne practically jumped into his arms, bridal-style, kissing him as she did so. "I would like that very much," she said, smiling shyly. "The evening is still young, you know."

"As are we," Tom replied. "And we have a whole future ahead of us. A future we will share-"

"-Together," Anne finished for him. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

END.

A/N: Sorry I took so long to get this last chapter up, but I've been really busy with a whole bunch of crap that I have to act like I care about… _ Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story, and I look forward to seeing you all very soon!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


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